Got up early, went to Fira, took in a few last views of the Aegean Sea and the beautiful island of Santorini then headed for the airport.

As a savvy traveller, I always arrive early at airports. I bought a book on Santorini and found a breezy shady place to read. I should have bought this book earlier, but it was nice to read of familiar places and of the wine I had become so familiar with. After an hour, I grabbed a slice of pizza and in no time, I heard the announcement my plane was boarding.

I gathered my things and dug out my passport and boarding pass. To my absolute horror my boarding pass was gone. Though I choose to believe some rotten thief had made off with it, more likely an idiot probably threw it out with her pizza box.

I dug through the first layer of crap and couldn't bear the sludge, so I went to desk to try to get another. The line was ridiculous and my flight was leaving in 20 minutes. There would not be another one until the morning so desperate times meant marching up to the counter and dodging the line.

"I'm sorry, but I have lost my boarding pass." I said.

"Did you wait in the cue?" Said she, glancing over my shoulder at irate line dwellers.

"Yes." I lied with pleading desperation.

She was not amused, looked at her computer and said "Your plane has already boarded." Then told me to wait and someone would come and talk to me.

I had the feeling I suspect is familiar to people on tv who are waiting in hospital waiting rooms with fragments of hope, only to be told, "I'm sorry, she's gone."

I counted down with the clock; 18 minutes, 15, 10, 8.

I realized no help was coming and did what any desperate traveller does. I caused a scene.

I sought out the most approachable clerk and interrupted their conversation with a desperate speech and crocodile tears. I always thought I could be an actress due to my ability to cry like Demi Moore in Ghost. I can speak clearly while fat wet tears stream down my face.

Even the person being waited on was moved by my performance and in moments I was escorted through the crowds and lines directly to the front of the boarding line. The people directly behind me were not amused and I had no sympathy. Survival of the fittest. Crisis averted, I board.

My seat was at the very front of the plane so I was thankful for the extra leg space. I stashed my suitcase and sat down. My worst fear was now a reality. My fat ass was only sitting on the arm rests and I feared I would have to leave the plane due to overuse of Cheese and chips.

As people were trying to get by I stood up as though being kind, but in fact, navigating how to squish a pillow into a thimble. "Please take your seat." said the attendant. "Ocourse" say I.

The straight down approach was out of the question so I tipped my ass sideways and shoved the rest in with painful abandon. There were no gaps for the mass to ooze out of, just straight steel walls. Thankfully I remembered to pull the seatbelt out and stretched it to it's max like any given bra. I wondered if anyone ever died from having their ass squished into a small space for an hour. I remembered wearing a Spanx once and almost suffocating. I panic a little, but the idea of staying in the airport overnight would probably kill me too, so I endured.

I cannot describe how pathetically painful the next hour and a half was. Two little girls who looked like Punchinello sat across from me babbling and giggling in Italian. They were adorable and distracted me from fainting. I was holding my pen in my hand and to add insult to injury, it exploded black ink all over me. I did not call for assistance as I could not afford the breath, so I held it dripping on to my leg for the duration.

Once on the ground, I vowed to lose weight while every passenger left the flight but me. I knew it would be hard to pull this thing out of captivity, so as they passed, I was painfully wiggling it out inch by inch. Finally, with a ridiculous sucking sound, out popped my ass like a can of snakes.

Soundly bruised but free, I vowed to lose some weight.

Back in Rome, I did what any doubly traumatized and morbidly obese traveller would do. I stopped for spaghetti, wine and tiramisu at the first restaurant I saw.